


Center Ice (WIP title)

by unnideul



Series: Center Ice [1]
Category: Hockey - Fandom, NHL - Fandom
Genre: Beards (Relationships), Erotica, Hockey, M/M, Male Friendship, Male Slash, NaNoWriMo, National Hockey League, Work In Progress, hockey season is the best season, inspired by too much hockey, unsure of the use of swede
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-23
Updated: 2015-02-23
Packaged: 2018-03-14 18:47:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3421604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unnideul/pseuds/unnideul
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This was my NaNoWriMo project last year, I had really wanted to write a sports romance and hockey is my absolute favorite sport. With Sean Avery and many other Rangers players (my personal favorite team ^^) speaking out about being homosexual in the NHL, I really wanted to do a piece focused on it.</p><p>So, this is the story of a New York NHL team and the players on it; One of them gay, most of them straight and how it unfolds and the players that discover, how they handle it.</p><p>I suck at summaries and at original work, but enjoy it either way!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Center Ice (WIP title)

Madison Square Garden positively buzzed in the aftermath of their most recent win. It had been a shutout, with a final score of 5-0 and every last one of them had played hard, had the right focus and the end result had been them coming out on top.

At least, that's what their coach had been preaching to the news crews outside the locker room, and as the team was coming down from the high of the win, reporters appeared from everywhere asking questions and wanting precious quotes; a few of them had cornered their Left Wing Aldrick Birke, who had managed to snag a hat trick in the second period, and were pummeling the rookie with questions and photographs, while others were starting to file out of the locker room to wait for the press conference that would surely follow the win.

Vidar had already retired to the showers, he never gave more than a few words to the reporters and sports networks, the man had always said that he despised the PR part of the game, all he wanted was to get on the ice and play hockey. 

He didn't seem to complain when that very PR had landed him the attention of his supermodel fiancée, though. Who, when she wasn't off in Milan or Paris, was in the owners box cheering him on.

Apollo had been wrapping up his own interview, he'd scored the final goal of the game and while he should've expected the barrage of questions that followed, he still tried to avoid them as politely as possible. Replying with nothing more than generic, rehearsed responses;

"Of course I'm satisfied with how we played."  
"We were in the right frame of mind tonight, we played hard."  
"A win at home is always important to us."  
"We just hope we can keep that mindset on the road too."

He wanted to shower, more than to just rid himself of the sweat, dirty melted ice and maybe some blood (that bastard Smithe had decided to check him hard into the glass late in the third and while his nose wasn't broken, it had dribbled a bit of blood onto his jersey.), but to simply go to where he knew Vidar would be -- the furthest shower head on the wall, the entire team knew he had a very specific post-game ritual. -- and take up the space next to him. It was almost torturous, really, having to try and fight down a raging hard-on (though, tonight, Apollo could brush it off as adrenaline from snagging the final goal and the win.) while his eyes snuck glances at Vidar's naked form.

He had the body of a Greek God (though, from his Swedish heritage, Norse God was more appropriate, Apollo mused inwardly.); muscles shaped from what Apollo assumed was a lifetime devoted to nothing but playing and training for his potential hockey future, features that were chiseled by none other than the hand of the good Lord himself and a head of long, golden locks that would make Fabio jealous and Apollo dreamed of running his fingers through.

Apollo had his own post-game ritual as well, it just involved filling his spank bank with images of a wet and soapy Vidar Eklund. 

And with as often as they practiced and played, both home and on the road, Apollo had a plethora of material by this point.

When he'd finally managed to get away from the reporter badgering him (some woman who hailed from one of ESPN's many subsidiaries.), it was only a matter of seconds before he was free of his pads, skates and clothing and making his way into the showers with a few of his other teammates who had also escaped the clutches of the media. As expected, Vidar was at the furthest corner, palms moving over a broad chest in an attempt to rinse the layer of sweat they all had taken on during the game, and Apollo took up the space next to him without question.

This, too, was part of the ritual, he liked to think. Why else would the spot be left open?

The rest of his fully nude teammates had never once affected Apollo. No matter how many teams he'd switched from, the naked men around him had gone unnoticed in favor of focusing on the game (and the promise of a late night porn search on the horizon to hold him over.). He'd known he was gay since middle school, when he'd been far too interested in trying to kiss the homecoming king than his own date that night and when he'd been caught doing so, both of the boys had been kicked from Brooklyn Catholic Junior High the next day. Since then, Apollo had done an excellent job of keeping his sexuality under wraps, his mother his sole confidante in a world where he knew his secret could potentially ruin his career. Something that was all the more evident when he'd been scouted out of High School to play for the NHL.

The moment he'd spotted Vidar, though, he felt that stirring in his stomach that could only mean one thing. And, of all the men that had paraded through the locker room, it was Vidar Eklund that could have his cock instantly twitching with arousal.

"Y'played good, Eks." Apollo commented as he turned on the water for the shower head above him, adjusting it to the right temperature and stealing a few quick glances at the other in the process. The game had left him half hard (and God, what Apollo wouldn't give to see his cock in its fully hardened glory.), foreskin pulled back enough to show the tip of a deep red spongy head and Apollo could feel his mouth watering. 

Just a taste of Vidar was all he wanted. Just a taste and....

He had to distract himself. Already he could feel blood surging to his length and he knew he'd be hard in no time if he kept this up.

"Thanks, mate. Wicked wrist shot at the end there." Vidar carried an English accent when he wasn't speaking his native tongue with the other Swedes, claiming that he'd been raised by an English nanny, who'd taught him the language at an early age, and he reached over to give Apollo's shoulder a friendly, appreciative squeeze.

It wasn't the kind of distraction Apollo was hoping for, the exact opposite, really and his skin tingled as Vidar touched him, bringing about an entire new set of sensations for Apollo to return to later in the evening (because it was also his post-game ritual to masturbate to his fellow teammate.). 

"Thanks." He replied, just as the rest of the team retreated to the showers, the large room echoing with the sounds of the excited athletes all yelling in various mother tongues as they rode the adrenaline of their home win, a few of them making plans to go out on the town, despite their coach and team owner telling them to do otherwise. Apollo could only focus on Vidar, though, occasionally glancing out of the corner of his eye at the man as he rinsed himself clean in silence, likely playing over the minor mistakes that he'd made during the game.

(Apollo thought he'd played flawlessly, as usual.)

Apollo did the same, rinsing himself and taking a little extra time to stroke himself with Vidar next to him, all under the ruse that he was being through. Not that anyone would've really said anything, everyone had their own ways of unwinding after games, and in his time in the league, Apollo had seen all kinds of rituals and superstitions.

As was usual after wins, the locker room cleared out in a matter of minutes, most of the players heading to their respective homes or hotel rooms, while others went out for a celebratory drink (or ten). Apollo hung back, however, slowly packing up his things as his fellow teammates said their farewells, each of them leaving with the promise that they'd all see one another early in the morning for their flight to California. Los Angeles was the best team in the league at the moment, and they all always required a day to adjust from the jet lag before getting into practice they'd sorely need if they wanted a win.

"You're not going out are ya, mate?" Vidar's voice startled him, he could've sworn that the man had left with the others and Apollo turned on his heels to face the other, shaking his head and offering him a grin.

"Nah. Think I'm gonna pass. I hate flying hung over." Apollo laughed, tossing a few final items into his bag before hoisting it over his shoulder in a sign that he was ready to head out for the night -- as much as he loved The Garden, his small flat just outside of Manhattan was much nicer, homier. -- and Vidar followed suit behind him, his own bag in tow and his muscles burning with the dull ache of a hard, satisfying, game behind him. "I was thinking I might watch the Los Angeles game from earlier, see how they're playing." He added with an offhanded shrug. "Matt is gonna make us do it anyway."

So, it wasn't the entire plan for the evening, but Vidar didn't need to know those details.

"Ah, we'll watch together, yeah? I'm not going with those bloody wankers." Vidar laughed, following in step behind Apollo as they left the back exit of the arena where a taxi was already waiting for them, door open and ready for the pair to climb in. "I wanna enjoy my flight tomorrow, not battle a splitting headache." He laughed, pulling the door shut when he'd slipped inside of the car with Apollo.

Apollo couldn't say no. How could he? This was Vidar fucking Eklund. The subject of his wet dreams and masturbatory rituals since he'd been drafted to the team. And now he was going to have him in his apartment, all to himself to do with what he pleased.

(Ok, he was getting carried away and the two would likely watch the game before retiring to sleep in separate rooms.)

Besides, it wasn't strange that they watched footage together, they usually played the same line -- with Matthew Allan as their Center -- and their coach was always telling them how important it was to know the way the opponent played and there were days that the front line spent locked in a room watching and rewatching a loss to find the flaws in their plays. It was meant to prevent making the same mistakes, Apollo liked to think of it as some weird form of punishment. 

"Yeah, of course. There's a few plays I wanna run by you anyway, maybe we can try 'em out in LA." Apollo nodded, attention returning to the cabbie long enough to give him his address before he sat back in the seat with Vidar next to him, their bags at their feet.


End file.
